Morality
by BlueEyes444
Summary: It's a well known fact that the Lestrange brothers can't live without each other.


**Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_.**

**Written for the Ultimate Death Eater Contest: Round Three.**

* * *

Rodolphus_ wakes to a sudden increase of weight on his bed. Blinking blearily, he finds his brother nestling down at his side._

"_What are you doing here, Rab?" Rodolphus asks, yawning._

_Rabastan squirms, looking away. "I wanted to make sure you're okay," he mumbles, finally looking at his brother._

_Rodolphus adjusts his position before wrapping an arm around Rabastan. "Another nightmare?"_

_Rabastan sniffles as he nods. "I dreamed you died."_

* * *

Rodolphus can't see anything through the disorientating haze of smoke, can't smell anything besides the overwhelming scent death.

There is a strange beauty in chaos. A strange, dangerous beauty.

He feels like laughing.

He stumbles, dodges a spell, sends a curse flying in a random direction. He doesn't know who he's aiming for anymore. He doesn't really care. Everyone's going to die. If not now, later. Everybody dies eventually.

Morality is such a simple thing.

He can practically taste the metallic tang of blood and tries not to gag, tries to ignore the way his stomach twists and turns. He's always had a weak stomach, years of killing and maiming not helping.

He see his wife's body on the ground but he forces himself to not stop and check. A small wail of grief flies from his lips, getting lost in the various screams and curses around him.

He pushes on, stumbling over dead and injured. He doesn't know where he's going, what he's doing, all he knows that if he's going to die, he wants to be with Rab when he does.

Yes, he loves, no it's loved now, she's dead, Bellatrix, (darling, _dangerous_, mad little Bella is dead, and oh, what is he supposed to feel? Joy or sorrow?) loved her so very much but if it was between her and his brother, well, no choice really in the end.

Because Rabastan and him are more than brothers, dare he say...soul mates, two halves of one, maybe codependency at its best, maybe...maybe what? He doesn't know. All he knows that he can't live without Rabastan. And it's unsaid but he knows it's the same way for Rabastan.

A curse hits him in the arm. No pain, just blood, can't feel anything anymore. Rodolphus fires one back, the incantation falling from his lips without any thought.

_'What if Rabastan's dead?' _asks a small voice in his head.

No, no, he insists, because yes people die sooner or later but. No, Rabastan isn't dead, no, no, he would know if he is.

He thinks he probably should be backing  
up the Dark Lord, protecting him as he hunts down the Potter boy, but he can't bring himself to do that, to stop searching for his younger brother to help a man that he frankly doesn't give a damn about.

A choked, hysterical laugh bubbles from his throat. Yes, he finally admits it. Rodolphus Lestrange is not one of the Dark Lord's most faithful servants. He hasn't ever been and he never will. He just said he was because he, as a Lestrange, it was expected of him. And well, he's always done what's been expected of him.

Suddenly, he can't breath, can't get another air in his lungs and he knows that it isn't from the smoke and smell of death.

He _knows_.

He trips over a body, stumbling, barely catches himself as he looks down, any words, curses he's about to say, dying on his tongue.

It is Rabastan, broken, pale, body cascaded, blue eyes open and unseeing, "Please don't be dead, little brother, please, no," he says or thinks he does, he's not sure, not sure of anything other then the cold skin, and the blood, blood, so much blood.

He is saying words that are meaningless yet meaningful, on his knees, holding his brother's head, willing him to open his eyes, give him a flash of his mad smile, a sarcastic reply, but there is nothing, no reply, no sign.

No life.

He isn't aware of anything besides his own harsh sobbing. There's gray dancing on the edges of his vision, taunting, teasing him.

Then time speeds up and the noise of war fills his ears and Rabastan, Rabastan, Rabastan.

"No, no, no," Rodolphus moans. The world spins around him.

There is no life without Rabastan, no life without his little brother.

Shaking hands grip his wand. He isn't aware of what he's doing. Or maybe he does. All he knows is that he must be with his brother, must join him in whatever afterlife, Hell or Heaven or maybe nothing at all. He doesn't care as long as he's with Rabastan.

He stands up, starts screaming curses, aiming at anything or everyone and then there's a green light coming at him and he laughs and.

He falls to the ground with a frozen smile on his face, Rabastan's name stuck on his lips.

Everybody dies sooner or later.

Morality is such a simple thing.

* * *

_Rodolphus ruffles his brother's hair."You can't get rid of me that easy, little brother."_

_Rabastan sniffles, clearly still shaken up from his nightmare but trying to forget about it. "Unfortunately."_

_They both giggle._

_Rodolphus presses a quick kiss to Rabastan's head before adjusting the blankets. "Goodnight, 'Bastan." _

_He can't see it but he can hear Rabastan's smile when he says,"Night, Rod."_


End file.
